I was born in Chingford eight days before the end of the Second World War. They pushed my mum’s bed into the garden so that she could see the victory celebrations. She was really ill when she had me and was pissed off, as mum was an ambulance driver during the war. I grew up in Chingford and went to a small private school that wasn’t posh; there wasn’t a single qualified teacher. I found I had terrible trouble reading. I was shy growing up and had a bad time at school. At seven, I suddenly could read and was grateful. Swimming also became my thing; we would swim in Larkshall and River Lea.
My father had bad hearing and was blind in one eye; he started to go blind in the other one. I think he was embarrassed about it, and it affected him. I stayed in school until I was 18. I was scared of the world. I began working in South Chingford library, which shocked my form tutor as she didn’t think I could work with the public. I got transferred to North Chingford library and made friends with a girl called Ann, whom I fell in love with. I didn’t know I was gay; Ann wasn’t gay and was very straight. I went to her party as a shrinking violet and was plied with Dubonnet; the alcohol gave me a personality change, a complete change. That’s how my drinking began.
Ann wanted to emigrate, and I always wanted to see the world. We both had a lot going on at home, so we decided to go. She wanted to go to Canada; I wanted to go to Australia and New Zealand. We couldn’t do Canada, so we became a £10 Pomme, I think they wanted breeding stock presumably. We did it, just before the new boroughs came in over here. We got the boat from Tilbury, our family saw us off, and Ann was crying. I didn’t feel like how Ann did or others in these situations; I had to pretend.
We stopped at Perth and plomped in Melbourne. When immigration came on the ship, they asked us what religion we were, so that they could palm us off to a priest. We had booked a place to stay and were there for three days. I got a job in a spare parts place; Ann didn’t get a job straight away. We got a flat from a woman who was leaving because Australia had gone into Vietnam, and her husband had to go. We hated Melbourne, so we decided to go to Brisbane. We missed the day train, which was my fault. When I couldn’t do things, I would rock back and forth. It must have been a shock for Ann as I used to hide it from people. We had to take the night train, which was freezing. Ann chatted up some bloke, and we got some brandy. We got a job at a strawberry farm and left after a couple of days; it was hard. Australia was wild in those days. We ended up in Cairns, which took two or three days.
Ann met a man and went with him to Gladstone on the coast. I was still in love with Ann, yet I went to Cookstown by boat, stayed for a few nights, and made friends there. I had some money left over, then Ann messaged me, saying she was going to Brisbane as it hadn’t worked out with the guy. I met her there. Ann wanted to go back to England, and I didn’t. I knew it was wrong for me to go back, and it was a mistake, but I did.
I drank to fit in; I needed a drink. When I went to apply to go to New Zealand, I had to get really drunk to pay the money. I had this back pay and booked to stop at Delhi and Hong Kong. Some of mum’s friends had gone to NZ. I think my sister was in Weston-Super-Mare; she helped me pack. I got to Auckland and worked in an insurance company. After a year, I got TB and was very sick. I stayed in New Zealand for 5 years and came back to England in 1976. I met a woman, and she couldn’t accept that it was happening between us because she wasn’t really out. I was thirty years old, and the first relationship I really had ended.
I had a therapist, she said, ” Don’t you think you should do something about your drinking?” I didn’t react immediately. At this time, I was in a relationship with Ruth, and we had been together for about 5 years. She was giving a talk in London, and I was in a state. I bought a strong lager and ended up going to my sister’s. We spoke about our drinking; we shared stories. Neither of us was in A.A. at the time. The next day, I didn’t drink and continued not to drink. I phoned an alcohol project that tried to recruit me as a client, then I called A.A and asked for a Gay group. The woman hung up on me. I don’t blame her for doing that; that was in 1983, and she didn’t know what to do.
I phoned London Friend; there was a group, but they were all gay men. Someone told me about the A.A. gay and lesbian meeting at St Botolph’s church in Aldgate. I began going there on a Sunday. Janet was 4 or 5 years sober at the time and is sober today. She became my sponsor, and she listened to me. I lived in Stoke Newington, and she didn’t live far. I would go to her flat, and she just listened. In that meeting were all men apart from me, and Janet, who was the secretary. I was in mental agony as Ruth and I had split, and that was painful. I didn’t know what was going on.
I started going to meetings, which were so helpful. Scottish James, who died years ago, I would identify with his anger. He said Highbury Barn needed support on a Tuesday, so I started going there. I used to go to the German Hospital in Dalston on a Sunday morning, which isn’t there anymore. I met George C and gave him a lift home; he was old then, a proper old timer. He sat in my car and talked to me. He had been to prison because of his drinking. He gave me good tips; I had just come out of a political cult, and George had my number.
A couple of years in, I was getting a lot of physical pain, so much was happening with the family, and the relationship with Ruth was ending. It turned out the pain was bowel cancer, which wasn’t diagnosed properly; they said it was anxiety, and I collapsed in a meeting. I had two major operations; the fellowship came to see me. My poor sister was in Torquay; she had our mother with her, her two young sons, and me. I came back after a short time and started to get depressed. I know I could have got more help from the fellowship, but I didn’t ask. I was relying on my therapist, I was obsessed with her, and she lived rent-free in my head; she moved into my street as well. I was fixated on her. I was feeding a friend’s cat, saw wine in her fridge, and couldn’t get the image out of my head. Therefore, I purchased a bottle of red wine, went home and forced myself to drink it. I sat at my table with a posh bottle of wine and got pretty pissed. I hadn’t drunk in over two years.
Betty started the A.A. Lesbian group around March 1986. So, they will be celebrating 40 years in March 2026. On Tuesday, I was voted in as secretary the Sunday before I drank, and didn’t tell anyone. I went home, drank the rest of the bottle and climbed the walls. I came to my senses and rang my therapist, she said phone my sponsor, I phoned Janet, who told me to go to a city meeting and share. James took me home for some Scottish stew, and we went to the Whittingham meeting. I realised it was a day at a time, I had forgotten why I was sober, I thought the time was important, I was obsessed with time…my last drink was 16th July 1986.
Betty and Claudia (who wasn’t a member) found the women’s place in Embankment to start the lesbian meeting. It was at the London Friend for a long time until they chucked us out. Betty wanted it to be an Akron meeting, which had the lord’s Prayer at the end. Still, there was a rebellion within the group because not everyone wanted it. Betty was the secretary and refused to carry on if it wasn’t approved. A lot of lesbian members didn’t go to the lesbian meetings; I feel it is a double anonymity, yet I always came out in my chair.
One of my first chairs was at Hackney Hospital. I knew I had to come out, as on the table was a pamphlet, so you think you’re different, written by Barry L, the man who wrote Living Sober. I never had any adverse reactions coming out; if I had, then I would have forgotten. I do remember one meeting in West Green Road, a guy from the provinces made an adverse comment about being with another man as if it was a bad thing, in that room, most were like me, gay, at the end of the meeting, the secretary said she was going on holiday to Lesbos…
I was always involved in Hackney step and remember Harry coming in and Dave P. There was that lovely young bloke called Mike ‘the bike’ who had M.S. He was so young when he passed. That meeting was so good. It has moved to a new venue and has a new time, I believe; I struggle with my mobility these days and cannot get to it.
Penny, my sister, got sober in France and moved near me, I was now in Chingford, and she started going to meetings in this area. I was drifting away at the time, attending only a few meetings. In 1995, I began training as a psychotherapist while working full-time. Penny said, ” Why don’t I go with her to a meeting in Loughton?” I went, and it got me back. ‘Chingford’ Alan shared that once he had been depressed and couldn’t get off the sofa, this helped me, as I suffer with depression and knowing someone longer around helped me. Think Alan passed away recently.
I didn’t formally go through the steps, but I feel I processed them, I understand them and why they are in that order. I was too angry at the time. If I started this all over again, then maybe I would do. Step one, the powerlessness is fantastic, the higher power side. I went back to Anglican when I was ill and thought I was going to die. I now feel a broader concept of spirituality.
So here I am. I’m old. No one told me that was going to happen. I can’t accept it at the moment. A.A. has changed my life. I cannot explain what it has given me; I have somewhere comfortable to live. I am someone who struggled with change, so this is a gift beyond our understanding. There is something special in the meetings. It has given me so much, and I wouldn’t have stayed sober without A.A. I definitely wouldn’t be alive today.
Did this in September 2024 at a comfortable place with Dorothy.
East London Archives of Alcoholics Anonymous. 